Exacerbyte (Ellie Conway Book 3)

by Cat Connor

  I lifted the oxygen mask. “Shrapnel?”

  “That’s what a person’s skull becomes when it explodes,” Doc replied with care. “How’s your head?”

  I didn’t know. I couldn’t process the information he gave me.

  “I need water.”

  Doc handed me a bottle of water. I took a huge mouthful and swished it around my mouth vigorously. I spat the water onto the concrete near my feet. There was a lot of red in the water. Maybe I bit my tongue or cheek.

  “What happened?” I asked, hoping the reality wasn’t what I thought and Sam didn’t really have pieces of Gloria’s skull stuck in his hands and arm.

  “Another device. We missed it.”

  That sucked out loud. “Everyone else is unhurt?”

  His eyes locked on mine. He knew I meant everyone but Gloria. “No one’s really hurt, Ellie.”

  “Gloria?”

  Doc shook his head. “Conway, I think she was dead before the bomb exploded, she’d lost a lot of blood. No pulse. Not an encouraging sign.”

  I swished more water around my mouth and spat it out. Less red that time.

  “Where was it?”

  “Behind her, maybe in her hair at the back of her head.”

  “I didn’t see anything,” I replied and another coughing fit followed. “Her hair was tied back with a barrette.” I struggled to talk. “Could that have contained explosives?” I coughed some more.

  Doc put the mask back on me.

  “Probably.”

  I thought about the young woman, where she was when we found her, how far we moved her with the explosives attached to her belt. I’d looked for wounds, found the belt and looked no further.

  Damn!

  “The bomb disposal squad said you don’t need much C4 to explode someone’s head, so you could be right about the hair thing,” Doc said. “We’ll know more once the forensic people examine the fragments of the IED. The other two kids are okay. No sign of Melanie, Tasha or Samantha.”

  Several police officers taped off the toilet area with bright yellow police tape.

  “How’d it detonate?”

  “We don’t know yet Ellie; we should know soon.”

  I looked into Doc’s eyes. “He created a fuc’n decoy. Those kids are gone.”

  Someone spoke to me from my right, “How you feeling?”

  A paramedic was standing next to me. “I’m okay,” I replied through the mask.

  She smiled.

  “Good that you can hear.”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “How do you feel?” She was persistent.

  “I’m fine, thanks.”

  Fine: fucked up, insecure, neurotic and evasive. Described me perfectly.

  “You may have some injuries and should be checked out.”

  I shook my head. Blood dripped from somewhere. Blood covered me already, so more didn’t seem to be an issue. There was no way I was going anywhere near a hospital. I took another mouthful of water and rinsed my mouth, then spat. I thought maybe I’d aspirated Gloria’s blood, which seemed a better option than to be bleeding myself. My blonde ponytail hung over my shoulder, streaked in red with fragments of something trapped in it. I didn’t much care for the lumps of sticky matter.

  “I’m okay. Thanks – but I’m okay. We have our doctor with us.”

  She nodded and smiled at Doc and went back to Sam.

  The fact was, I was struggling with all the events leading up to me sitting on a gurney, sucking oxygen.

  If there is a God, he seriously fucked up this time. He and I were going to be having a difference of opinion, again.

  “Doc?”

  “Chicky …” He cleared his throat. “Conway.”

  “We’ve got work to do.”

  I gave the mask to the paramedic.

  When I stood up the whole world tilted. It felt peculiar. Doc took my arm and I was grateful for the support. He hoisted his pack onto one shoulder and called Sean over. I hadn’t even noticed him standing with two police officers and the two bomb techs. They looked different without the heavy bombproof outer clothing; they were now wearing dark blue overalls.

  “Can you take the scene and work with the crime scene unit?” Doc asked.

  “Yes,” Sean replied. “You okay Ellie?”

  A bloody taste churned in my mouth; I swallowed hard.

  I smiled. “Yeah, of course I am. Sam needs some stitches; can you take him back to the hotel later?”

  “Of course.”

  Blood dripped onto my arm as I moved my head.

  “Doc …” Sean said.

  “I saw,” he replied. “Sit back down, Conway.” He encouraged me to sit back on the gurney. His pack hit the ground; he opened it quickly, pulled on gloves and carefully worked his way through my hair. A paramedic came to help. She passed him forceps. Moments later, someone was holding a wound dressing to the side of my head.

  “What was it?” I asked.

  Doc showed me. “A piece of bone, maybe jaw. And a tooth.”

  Yuck. He cleaned the wound. “This is going to sting,” Doc said. “I’m gluing these cuts, otherwise you’ll be dripping blood for ages.”

  I grimaced as he squeezed the edges of the first cut together. Knowing he was going to do it twice was anything but a thrill a minute.

  “All right?”

  “Yeah. I’ve had worse.”

  “All done.”

  We attempted leaving again. Sean was waiting with Sam.

  “Sean, Where are the other kids and Lee?”

  “At the police station. We’ve got a couple of interview rooms there and a psychological trauma specialist on standby.”

  “Good.”

  “See you back at the hotel, Sam.” There was some sort of exchange of looks between Sean and Sam. I didn’t quite catch it and didn’t care.

  “Turner and Jay have a car standing by, they’ll take you to the hotel,” Sean said as we walked away.

  It took all my concentration to stop myself thinking about Gloria and just walk.

  Twenty-Two

  I Can’t Tell You Why

  “Where are we going?” Turner asked.

  “Hotel,” Doc said. “Conway needs to clean up before I see the kids and talk to parents …”

  Turner didn’t reply.

  No one said another thing until after we pulled into the underground car park at the hotel. Turner parked the car right by the elevator door. The plan was to get me in the elevator and into my room, without causing too much attention. I hoped it was late enough that most people would be either out clubbing or already in their rooms, rather than milling about the swanky lobby and bar.

  Hooch threw a reflective police jacket over me as I stepped out of the car.

  It took a few seconds before I could stand straight. My brain couldn’t process information regarding my physical position. Hardly surprising, it had had a lot to process in a short space of time.

  “Thanks for the jacket,” I said with a smile.

  “Keep it,” he replied. If it were mine I wouldn’t have wanted it back either.

  “We’ll meet you two at the station,” I said. I still tasted blood in my mouth. I swallowed. I could smell it too.

  I clutched the bag containing my boots to me.

  “Shitty night, huh?” Turner said through his open window.

  “Two kids are okay,” I replied. That needed to be my focus. “It’s a better result than I’d imagined.”

  Three kids were gone and a young woman dead. I couldn’t let myself dwell on that. Doc tapped the roof of the car as we walked away. It was slow going. My head wanted to go one way but my body argued. After a brief discussion, Doc won. He held my arm and walked with me.

  The door shut on the police car and the engine started. The elevator pinged. I hoped no one was waiting near the elevator in the lobby. We switched elevators without any fuss and carried on straight to our floor. I tasted blood again.

  Doc checked the hallway and gave me the all cle
ar.

  He pulled another two pieces of white paper from the doorjamb, swiped the keycard and let me in. Once inside he showed me the first picture. It was a photo of me climbing on to the stage after the evacuation, with Rowan helping me up. I remembered feeling someone watching.

  “That had to be taken from above the stand, that conference room, look at the angle. There was no one on the ground or in the stands but us and police.”

  “Someone likes you.”

  “Someone’s playing with me.”

  He flipped over the picture read aloud the scrawled words, “ ‘Special Agent Conway and her valentine’.”

  “Seems my tormenter has a sense of humor.”

  Doc showed me the second picture. A recent photograph of Carla in class. Doc read the caption out, “ ‘Pretty Carla. My how she’s grown’.”

  “Motherfucker!”

  “She’s okay Conway. Chrissy and Caine will take good care of her,” Doc said.

  My boots tumbled out of the bag into the small sink as I held it upside down and shook it.

  “What did you say, Doc?” I studied the picture of Carla. “That’s some serious camera the photographer used. The shot had to be taken from outside the school grounds. Maybe three hundred yards from the classroom.”

  “Chrissy and Caine will take good care of her.”

  “Chrissy ...”

  Thursday just got a fuck lot worse.

  Doc looked at me as if I had two heads. “You going to be okay?”

  “Yeah.” What choice did I have? “I gotta get this mess off before anyone sees me like this.”

  “Go easy in the shower. You’re none too steady on your feet.”

  “I know.”

  “You have a concussion. It’s from the pressure of the blast.”

  “I know,” I replied. And I’m covered in bone fragments, brain matter and blood.

  “I’ll be out here,” he said. “I’ll bag these.” Doc waved the photographs in his hand. “Don’t lock the door.”

  No argument this time. “I won’t.”

  In the bedroom, I was as alone as I was going to get.

  The jacket almost fell off by itself. I folded it so the inside wasn’t visible and placed it over a chair. I shoved my hand into the plastic bag I’d carried my boots in and used it to open the bathroom door, then to turn the shower on. As I peeled off my clothing, I noticed my hands. Blood caked under my nails, dried into the creases of my knuckles and palms.

  Gross.

  The plastic bag came in handy again. I used it like a glove and unclipped my holster and set it carefully on the shelf by the towels, then used it to pull my phone from my pocket and set that beside my gun.

  White towels.

  White soap.

  My pale face reflected back at me, streaked with ruby lines. Stuff was stuck in my blonde hair, red and gloopy, with sticky patches containing sharp white fragments. I tasted more blood and spat red into the white sink then turned on the tap and watched it swirl clockwise down the drain.

  Weird.

  I opened my mouth and looked for cuts. I found one quickly and it looked like a tooth or two had gone through my cheek quite a way. I didn’t give it much consideration. Mouths heal fast.

  Slowly my reflection disappeared as steam filled the room.

  If I couldn’t see me, nor could one else.

  I dropped all my clothes into the plastic garbage bag. Someone would pick it up and deliver it to whatever laboratory the police used. No telling what trace evidence would be on my clothes from the explosion. I stepped under the hot water.

  Dilute scarlet drips chased down the white shower walls. Soap turned pink in my hands.

  I scrubbed.

  The hot water poured over me making small rivers of crimson swirl by my feet. I shampooed my hair twice and still little pink streaks flew as I moved my head.

  I scrubbed.

  Somewhere beyond the torrents of water, my phone rang.

  I didn’t care.

  Eventually the water and soap and scrubbing removed all the dark dried blood from under my nails and my hands, arms, face and hair. I stepped into the steamy sauna-like room.

  With a dizzy head, I reached for a large thick white towel.

  The final test.

  As I dried off, I paid special attention to my hair then checked the towel. No red or pink. It was just wet.

  A fresh white robe sat on the shelf. I pulled it on and tied it tight. The smell from the garbage bag on the floor stung my nose. It was an all-too-familiar metallic blood smell with too many associations.

  As I squeezed the bag, the gush of warm bloody air almost choked me as I tied it shut. I checked my hands again.

  Clean.

  My phone rang again. I peered at it on the shelf as it rocked and vibrated closer and closer to my gun.

  Grange.

  I looked again.

  Checking it said Grange not Galileo.

  Not Mac.

  I answered the call, “Hey.”

  “You okay? We heard something exploded.”

  Something exploded.

  “I’m okay.”

  “Can I see you,” he said.

  “I’m fine, really, just getting cleaned up.”

  “Please?”

  I left the bag in the bathroom, ended the call and dropped my phone in the pocket of the robe.

  “How you feeling now?” Doc asked. He looked comfortable, legs stretched out across the coffee table, laptop on his knee.

  “Bit better. Clean at least.” I tossed up whether or not to mention the cut in my mouth. It’s a mouth, seemed silly. It’d take care of itself.

  My bloody boots were in the sink. They would take some cleaning.

  There was a knock at the door. “I’ll get it,” I said. I found walking in a straight line to be somewhat challenging. “It’ll be Rowan.” It took massive concentration to make it to the door.

  “You sure you feel all right?” Doc asked.

  “Yep,” I replied, using the countertop as support. “Little bit fuzzy around the edges is all.”

  “Conway, that’s not all right.”

  “Really, it’s fine.” We’ll discuss it later, unless I can avoid it.

  I opened the door and found Rowan leaning on the doorjamb. He wore a new facial expression, one people close to me seemed to develop: worry mixed with a hint of fear and utter disbelief.

  I shrugged mentally, there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about that.

  “See?” I said. “Okay.”

  He stepped inside and shut the door. “You sure?”

  “Yes.”

  I stepped back toward the counter, needing something to lean on and wanting to block the view of the sink. Rowan walked into the main living area.

  “Hey, Rowan,” Doc said, moving his feet off the coffee table. “Have a seat.”

  Rowan sat down. “Do I want to know what happened?” he asked.

  My hands gripped the back of a chair as the room twirled in sickening circles.

  “Someone died in the stadium.”

  “We were told there was an incident and it was to do with the bomb threat.”

  “Yep.” That’s all anyone would be told.

  “We can play tomorrow though.”

  “Awesome.” Don’t think I’ll be in any hurry to attend another concert, ever.

  “Ellie?”

  “Uh huh,” I said and moved around the chair, not letting go until I could sit on it. My head ached in between bouts of sickening dizziness that tilting my head triggered. The cut inside my mouth felt interesting and my tongue wouldn’t leave it alone. I knew Doc was scrutinizing me.

  “Conway?”

  “It’s nothing, Doc. I’m good.”

  Rowan leaned across the coffee table as if he was going to say something but didn’t.

  He called room service and ordered coffee.

  Doc smiled gratefully. “We haven’t had a chance to buy more coffee for the filter machine. Life gets crazy aroun
d Conway.”

  I ignored his comment. My mind pored over the events of the night. I couldn’t find a way of reconciling what had happened. Names written in blood crawled across the grass at the stadium, Joe Hallenbeck, Jimmy Tudeski, Tom Mix, Bo Weinberg, Emmet Smith, Art Jeffries, Dave Addison, John McClane, David Dunn.

  David Dunn. We’d forgotten about him since arriving in New Zealand. The others were characters played by Willis but he confused me. David Dunn.

  Without warning music started up in my head.

  A line from a song I knew but couldn’t quite place. Patiently, I waited as other lyrics joined with music with a lead vocal to die for. I knew then what I was listening to. Someone knocked on the door. Rowan answered it and took a tray of coffee and cups from a porter. He set the tray on the countertop and closed the door.

  “Rowan?”

  He stood in front of the sink. “What is that on your boots?”

  “Blood,” I replied with a conjured, nonchalant air. And maybe some brain and a bit of bone.

  He came over carrying the tray of coffee and cups, which he set on the table. Rowan sat back in a chair opposite me and picked up his coffee.

  “I don’t know what to say,” Rowan said. His eyes met mine with force.

  No one ever does.

  “Answer a question for me. ‘Unbreakable’ – was it on the set list tonight?”

  “Yes.” His vision seemed drawn to the sink. “It was on our set list for tonight.”

  “Bon Jovi, yes?”

  “Yes.”

  Doc watched me with interest.

  “Can you check to see if Bruce Willis ever played someone called David Dunn … and did Willis do a movie called Unbreakable?”

  He tapped on the laptop keys. “He did and he played David Dunn.”

  “Curious isn’t it?” There was blood in my mouth.

  “Yes it is,” Doc replied.

  “Do we know how Sam is?”

  “He’s good, said he’ll head over to the police station and help Lee out. I told him we’d be along soon.”

  I took a small mouthful of coffee.

  Rowan’s eyes never left me.

  “Ellie, there’s blood,” he said, wiping a finger across at his own mouth.

  I wiped the back of my hand across my mouth. I’m such a good-time girl. Everyone’s idea of a fun date.